Chapter 12
Vivi
HELL HATH NO fury like a mafioso scorned.
In the days following the shooting, Vigo Cabello took action.
He let his rage run free. I stayed away from the television and confirmation of the climbing body count while he sought revenge.
Or maybe—a shiver of suspicion tugged at my heart—he placed blame so the finger wouldn’t point at himself.
I had no proof to suspect he orchestrated the massacre at the mission, but I couldn’t shake the possibility. Had he wanted her to die?
Had he wanted both of us to die?
It didn’t matter. Not when I was consumed with grief and planning Mama’s funeral.
I’d thrown myself into the task, finding the perfect location—her rose garden—selecting the prayers that would be said and the officiant who couldn’t be Raphael.
No, it had to be Father Zanetti, a Cabello priest. If more blood was shed, it wouldn’t belong to a friend.
The day of the service dawned brightly with the sun rocketing high over the Atlantic, as if it were one of Mama’s signs. I clung to that thought, soaking in the warmth it gave while leaning against the opened doorway. The view was stunning, and I both loved and hated it at the same time.
If my father was anything, he was paranoid.
We were locked away in a home built from dirty money and on land that shouldn’t belong to him.
But it did. Just like most things in New York.
Jamaica Bay spanned between the house on the tip of Long Island and Brooklyn.
We were surrounded by water and a forest on either side of the compound, along with guns and protection that couldn’t always be seen.
I lived in a beautiful fortress, and I was his prisoner.
That’s what it felt like on most days, anyway.
A knock interrupted my thoughts. I took a final look at the lapping waves before heading to the entrance of my suite to open the door.
“Ciao, Francesca.”
Her gaze was soft, a contradiction to the harsh bun pulling her face taut with tension.
I sometimes thought she did this to ease the wrinkles around her eyes.
A mini facelift for the cost of only a few bobby pins.
She was nearing sixty-five and was more of a grandmother than a housekeeper.
I feared for her retirement, then remembered she couldn’t leave.
Once on the Cabello payroll, always on the payroll.
“Mia cara.” My dear. She wrapped me in her arms. “It’s time.”
Nodding, I pulled away. “I’ll get dressed and be down in five minutes. Is Vigo waiting?”
“He is.”
“And his mood?” I asked.
“Subdued.”
“Of course.” I forced a smile. “Tell him I’ll only be a moment, per favore.”
She left as quietly as she’d come. My room was a few steps down the hallway.
A black dress I borrowed from Mama’s closet lay on my mattress, with matching shoes below it on the rug.
Before I changed into either, I opened my nightstand drawer.
Beside my Bible, a Glock gleamed in the afternoon light, ready to strap onto my thigh.
I looped my hair in a low ponytail, then pinned on a pillbox hat with a little cage veil to shield my face from prying eyes.
Especially my father’s. He would feed on any visible weakness, and Mama wouldn’t want the tears.
If it was me lying in a casket, she’d bleed vengeance from her veins until someone paid for the crime. I owed her that much and more.
With a promise on my lips and revenge on my mind, I left to meet my family.
I was hard-pressed to call the eldest sibling a brother, and technically, we were only half related by blood.
Vigo had two wives, the first as dead as the second.
A pattern had formed, and only I seemed to care.
Stefano certainly didn’t. He never mentioned Catarina, at least in my presence.
Dante was softer. At least he was with me, and we sometimes talked about his mother.
Now we could remember mine in the past tense too.
An awful ache erupted in my chest, but I pushed it aside as I greeted my family.
“Father.” I rose on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek. He was handsome, tall, with wide shoulders, and completely apathetic toward his daughter. “You’ve got Mama’s favorite suit on.” I straightened his tie under the pretense that I cared.
“She was my precious gift.” His crystalline eyes slid along the line of my ponytail in apparent appreciation, then back up to my face. “I will avenge her death.”
“It seems like you’ve already started the battle.”
He clenched my jaw between his fingers, clamping down on my sarcasm.
“Watch your tone with me, Vivienne. I’ve endured your attitude for Simone’s sake.
Now I have no patience for your adolescent mouth.
” Twisting his hand, he cruelly dragged my skin with the turn.
“You’re a Cabello. Start acting like it—”
“Or what?” I tugged from his hold, thankful for the veil that would now hide his marks as well as my sorrow. “You’ll turn the war on me next?”
He grabbed my arm where the bullet had torn through flesh, his thumb digging into the wound.
I bit back a grimace. “I will break you, girl. If it takes one bone at a time, I will have your respect. Remember that when you speak to me. We protect our own. Above all else, we are loyal, or we are nothing.”
I disregarded his glare, wrenching away to greet Stefano with the same false gesture. Dante was next. After straightening my hat and dress, he wrapped my hand around his elbow and bent to whisper in my ear. “Why must you provoke him?”
We lagged behind as they entered the ballroom, where a hundred of our closest relatives—and the security meant to keep us safe—gathered.
“Why must he kill? This is his fault. All of it,” I hissed.
Dante shook his head. “The Angelinis killed Simone.”
“Retaliation because of his directive. If he didn’t want all the power, none of this would’ve happened.
Mama would be alive in her garden cutting roses instead of lying dead and cold, waiting to be buried amongst them.
” I held onto him tighter, the only lifeline to the grief about to swallow me whole.
“He’s greedy, Dante. So full of greed and hate, he ruins everything close to him. ”
He slowed our procession. “Listen to me, sorella. Whether we like it or not, we were born into this family. It’s a kill-or-be-killed world we live in. His decisions ensure we have a future—”
“At what cost?” I cried.
His rigid features softened while I dragged in a steadying breath. “The price was high, dearest. The highest. But we can’t go back, so we must go forward. And to do that, you can’t make him hate you.”
“More than he does now?”
His shoulders sank a fraction, and I knew it was true.
“He’s always despised me. Even as a child there was no love. I don’t understand. He won’t even give me my mother’s necklace. I begged, Dante. On my knees, I begged for the locket she wore every day of her life, yet he insists it go in the ground with her. Why is he so cruel?”
Before he could respond, mourners crowded us from every angle.
“Chin up,” Dante whispered, and then the flock descended with sympathy and tissues. So many were stuffed in my face that my fists were full in the two minutes it took for us to exit onto the path leading to the garden.
?
MAMA’S RESTING PLACE was beautiful. Flowers swayed in the breeze while her coffin lowered into the earth.
“Ceneri alle ceneri. Polvere alla polvere.”
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
Father Zanetti’s words hardened what was left of my heart.
The constant weeping grated my nerves.
Loud wails.
Vulgar sniffles.
Leave it to the mafia to cheapen a funeral.
Zia Beatrice was the worst, snorting during the Lord’s Prayer.
Dante held me back from throwing myself over Mama’s body to tackle the sniveling woman.
Her daughter, Sofia, wasn’t any better. I rolled my eyes, praying for the farce to end.
When it did, I wanted nothing more than a minute alone, but I couldn’t leave until the family kissed our cheeks on both sides before sharing a parting condolence.
Endless moments dragged on when, finally, Sofia and her boyfriend approached. Dante escaped with a smile that said, “Sucker,” and I mentally kicked him in the ass for leaving me with this chatterbox.
“Viviii.” She pouted. “Sono veramente dispiaciuto.” I’m so, so sorry.
“Grazi—”
“Simone was gorgeous. Such a good soul. I’ll miss her tremendously.
But you remember Johnny, don’t you?” She gestured to the tall Italian man beside her.
He had warm brown eyes and hair and a slight bump in his nose, and he wore a suit as if he’d just come off a Milan runway. Knowing Sofia, he probably did.
He gave me his hand instead of his cheek, and for that, I was eternally grateful. “I’m sorry for your loss—”
“We’re getting married.” Sofia cut him off and thrust her fingers toward my face. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, then I focused on a gleaming diamond. Sizeable, and as flashy as the sparkles on the dress she wore to an interment. “Johnny can’t wait to become mio marito (my husband).”
His sudden, downcast gaze brought doubts with it, but who was I to judge? He bought her a rock, and if his life’s goal was to join a mob family, good luck to him. I only wanted to escape.
“We’re having a quick wedding.” Sofia’s skin warmed under the sun, and her wink told me there was a bun in the oven, lighting a fire for a quick ceremony. The betrothal made all the sense in the world now. Knock up a mafia princess; marry a mafia princess. Johnny was as trapped as I was.
“Congratulations. Truly.” I squeezed her arm, then turned to kick Dante’s ass.
“Uncle Vigo promised,” she rushed before I could escape.
I stopped, glancing over my shoulder. Sofia had the Cabello look—dark hair, light eyes, a great arch to her brows, and curves galore. I couldn’t help but run a hand down my missing hips as I faced them again.
“Uncle Vigo promised what?” I asked.
“That you would help with the wedding. You know, the organization of everything. All the to-dos. I’m terrible at it, Vivi, and you’re the best. It has to be here on the island, of course, because of Simone and all this.”
She pointed at the guards, many of whom had spread to the water’s edge with drawn guns. In the opposite direction, Luca Mancini ushered Vigo toward the house.
My heartbeat stuttered.
Damn it. I had no right to notice Luca in any other way than as a prized goon with zero respect for the law—unless it was the mafia’s omertà.
He wasn’t the kind of man a woman should dream about.
His 401(k) included a burial in a shallow grave, but that didn’t stop me from wanting him.
Or despising his fast temper and faster dismissal of my feelings five years ago.
He was too cautious to fall in love at first sight. I was not.
Che stupido da parte mia. How stupid of me.
Thoughts of rejection evaporated when he shoved my father through the door, simultaneously drawing a Glock from his waistband.
I reached for Sofia’s elbow. “Let’s talk inside.”
“No. Let’s do a little planning, like where to place the aisle. This probably isn’t the best spot. I mean, a visible gravesite isn’t romantic at all. I think it should be over here.”
She turned, her arms spreading out. Just then, a helicopter rose above the trees. Johnny moved first, God bless him, shoving Sofia to the ground so quickly she couldn’t even scream. I stared at a man lying flat, aiming a rifle out of the open side.
The low thwap, thwap, thwap of the blades barely registered in my mind. For the third time in a week, bullets flew. I counted the bright bursts of fire as each left the extended barrel, one to twenty. Dirt erupted as they hit the earth in a dotted line heading in my direction.
I pivoted on my heel.
A round zipped past my cheek.
Luca sprinted toward me with his gun raised.
He let loose a rapid succession of shots aimed above my head as he ran. The distance between us disappeared, and I closed my eyes just before we collided. Air rushed from my lungs in a grunt. His arms wrapped around my waist, and we flew backward, landing on Mama’s casket with a hard jolt.
I groaned and pushed against his chest.
“Stay down,” he growled as the screeching whine of a rocket pierced my ears. A battle that started with a splatter of bullets ended with an explosion that stole my hearing.
Mio Dio.
Sucking in a shuddering breath didn’t help my nerves.
“Enough wiggling, woman.”
I glanced at the man above me.
Luca was stunning in a masculine, dark knight kind of way. A raven to my dove. His ebony hair gleamed under the sun, a slash of it scraping across his forehead and ending on his scar. A scar I couldn’t help but trace from start to finish as if I could soothe his pain.
“Il mio bel salvatore,” I whispered.
He was my guardian angel on another day. The same night, he became an assassin for my father. But five years ago, Luca made a choice that didn’t include a future with me. I should’ve despised him. Instead, my traitorous pulse moved between my legs.
Merda. I was always such an idiota with this guy.
I pushed against his shoulders. “Get off.”
He grunted but didn’t move. Not an inch. Claustrophobia rushed in with the dirt walls. His body. Mama and her casket beneath me.
I struggled against his hold.
“Basta!” he snapped, then leaned up on his elbow. His hand roamed over my stomach, beyond the throb, and to the edge of my skirt. My breath caught as his fingers discovered the soft skin on my thigh.
Please.
I’d waited years for him to touch me, and I could almost hear myself beg for it in a shaky whimper. Amusement eased his taut features when his roaming hand hit my leather holster. He slipped my weapon free and held it between us, his mouth curling at the corner.
“A Glock, Vivienne?”
“I can use it,” I hissed.
“Sure you can, Princess.”
I shifted to knee his nuts.
He scoffed, rolling his weight onto my hip to pin me down. That didn’t stop my struggle, and I palmed, then punched his chest.
“Get off, stronzo.”
“No.”
“No?”
I pushed him, growling in anger when I couldn’t budge the brute. A frustrated yelp scratched my throat. The last hit I landed was as deflated as my psyche, and I closed my eyes, going completely still.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “Why did you save me again when you don’t care if I live or die?”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he claimed, then stood, towering over me like some insanely attractive avenging angel.
Sleek frame.
Broad shoulders.
Midnight blue eyes.
God almighty. The ache blossomed in my core even though I hated the man. I hated him even more when he leaned down, grabbed my waist, and hauled me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes. I smacked his back, finding enough energy to kick and squirm and listen to more of his cazzate.
“I care enough to find out who wants you dead.”